Something Akin to Burgundy
by george's firework
Summary: If Ginny could barely cope with rejection on paper, how would she cope face to face? Set in CoS - Tom R. Jr./Ginny W - Third place in the OPI Competition by Rosalie'sRevenge at the Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges Forum.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter one for my miserable attempt at the OPI Competition :D**

**Shade: Berry Daring**

**Pairing: Tom R. Jr./Ginny W.**

If anyone had been in the Transfiguration courtyard that afternoon, or watching the place from any of the surrounding classrooms, they would have seen a flash of bright red disappearing into the copse of bushes behind some bushes in the north corner.

Little Ginny Weasley plonked herself down onto the dirty ground and leaned against the wall, breathing hard. She opened her eyes for a short moment and glanced around to make sure she could not be seen. If anyone had been there to see her, they wouldn't have noticed that the colour of Ginny's eyes had changed from their normal brown to a colour that was slightly more akin to burgundy. However, she closed them and rested her head on the stones behind her for a moment, then sighed, opened her eyes and started to rummage in her bag. Her eyes were lighter now.

Absently, Ginny brushed a few feathers from her robes, then stopped and frowned at them in confusion. Had they been there a moment ago? What had she even been doing a moment ago? Surely she was supposed to be in class. Ginny's hand suddenly hit what she was searching for and she shrugged off her moment of confusion as she pulled out the small black book that had become her confidante. Her ink bottle and quill were already lying on the ground from where she had put them in her search for the book and she pulled the stopper out of the bottle and inked up the quill.

_Tom, _she wrote.

_Do you remember how I told you about how I keep forgetting everything I've been doing? Like there are just big patches of black in my head and I've no idea what's meant to fill them. Well it happened again today, just a few moments ago actually, and there are feathers all over my robes. They look like the feathers from the school roosters and I've no idea how they got there, because I don't like roosters that much – they're much louder than the chickens we have at home._

Already the ink was starting to disappear into the book and Ginny frowned. What had she said at the beginning of that entry? It was on the edge of her mind when the ink started to reappear, but in different shapes.

_Sweet little Ginny, how many times have you commented on your love of your chickens at home? I am sorry, dear one, but it's getting rather tedious to read constantly about your love of the birds. Why don't we chat about something different for once? In fact, why don't you tell me more about Harry Potter? You said last week about how close it's getting to Valentine's Day - do you have any plans as to what you might do to get the attention of the elusive Mr Potter?_

Ginny sighed and sucked thoughtfully on the end of her quill, her face the picture of contemplation. She hadn't really thought of doing anything for Harry because, well he was just so brilliant and brave and famous and courageous and awesome…

_Ginny, I'm running out of ink here…_

The small girl jumped as the diary suddenly heated up in her hand and she started to scribble again.

_I don't know Tom. He's my brother's best friend, is it really right for me to do something about that? I did hear Lockhart talking about his Valentine's Day plans the other day though... He said something about the Great Hall being filled with balloons and flowers and hearts, all in an obnoxiously bright shade of pink of course, and he also mentioned that he would be having dwarves dressed as Cupids deliver poems to people in school. Maybe I should send him one? Oh but Tom, wouldn't you feel left out?_

A quick glance at the clock tower showed Ginny that she still had at least half an hour before the end of class. She sighed and closed her eyes again; knowing Tom would probably be writing her a short essay. It was just like him to do something like that after she'd provided him with some information of her plans for Harry Potter. What she didn't understand was why _he _was so obsessed with him. Obviously it made sense for her to be so possessed by the boy wonder, but what interest did Tom have in him? Ginny wondered if this was what it felt like to be jealous. Tom was her secret, and no-one else's!

_Oh precious Ginny, I can completely understand your worries but surely you could make sure your poem was sent anonymously if you were that nervous about it? Think about it a little more, this could be your way of getting over your fear, conquering it! Ginny, I'm well aware of how you feel about Harry Potter; this could be the kick-start you need, could it not? You've mentioned that your mother and father began their relationship whilst they were at school and now they're married with seven children. If you can find the courage to send Harry a simple love poem then that could be you in a few years. I think you need to start thinking up a poem, to express your love for him, but subtly. As for that parting note, how could I feel left out? Surely you'll tell me everything afterwards._

What on earth could a girl as simple and quiet as her… say to impress the famous Boy Who Lived? Ginny's feelings of defeat were quickly quashed by the rest of Tom's reply.

_No one's ever understood me like you, Tom. But I didn't mean being left out in the sense that you wouldn't know what was going on. Wouldn't you be jealous if I sent Harry a Valentine and you got nothing? You know, I often wonder what you look like. Won't you ever show me Tom?_

Ginny clamped her bottom teeth around her lip as she waited for the reply to come. Usually he replied straight away, as if he adored writing to her, but this reply took him several minutes. While she waited, Ginny absently brushed the feathers off her robes and ran her fingers through her hair to see if any had lodged there, her eyes flickering back to the diary every few seconds. Nearly ten minutes after she had sent her last response, Tom's reply inched slowly into view.

_Ginny… I'm nothing if not flattered… And it was very daring of you to say... But it isn't appropriate for you to think of me in anyway even remotely similar to that. I'm a mere memory, I hardly have the strength to write back to your musings, let alone conduct some sort of relationship. Especially an all-consuming one such as love. But I-_

The book slammed closed, Ginny did not want to see the rest of Tom's rejection. She felt utterly humiliated – no way would she ever send Harry a Valentine. If this is what it felt like to be rejected by someone on paper, how would it feel face to face? Surely it would be ten times as bad, and already Ginny felt more utterly miserable than she had in her entire life. How did girls cope with this? Maybe she would ask Hermione – Ginny's dorm-mates had been avoiding her lately and she didn't exactly think Luna Lovegood would be of much help.

Deciding that this was the best course of action, Ginny began to pack up her things when suddenly the diary heated up viciously and crashed open onto the date Ginny had been writing on. However, there was no writing on either of the pages, only a glowing square in the middle of the page. Ginny leaned closer to the diary, frowning as she examined the glowing square.

A moment later, the bell rang and students came spilling out of the surrounding classrooms. If they had come out a little earlier, they might have heard a small squeak as a young, red-headed girl was sucked inside a diary.


	2. Chapter 2

Tom Riddle sat on the sill of an arched window in the Transfiguration courtyard, one leg swinging down over the empty chasm beside him, the other propped up in front of him against the opposite side of the arch to which he was leaning his back against. He was the epitome of dark handsomeness and elegance, whilst giving off a strange aura of danger. People stayed away, occasionally sending him the odd, scared glance. The sunlight glinted off the green and silver Prefect badge pinned to his robes as he bent forward slightly, scribbling furiously in a little black book with a handsome quill.

Around him, well in the courtyard next to him, couples were sitting closely on benches and single people were staring at the objects of their affection with intense, embarrassed expressions, debating whether or not to send their Valentine's cards over. The Slytherin Prefect was completely oblivious to the admiring glances some girls were sending his way, still scribbling furiously in the diary.

Already, he had created this new name for himself, the alias of "Lord Voldemort" and already, unknown to all of course, he had killed. Not personally, he had set the basilisk called Sangre on the school and had been there, hidden of course, when the Mudblood Myrtle was killed. Indirectly it had been due to him, as he had ordered Sangre to hunt down the muggleborns in the castle. The diary he was currently scribbling furiously in was his first Horcrux. He had killed again shortly after, in the summer of 1943 when he had found his father, a filthy Muggle, and murdered him, and his parents. The proof of the deaths was shown by the ring Tom wore proudly on his finger.

The clock struck seven and everyone left the courtyard, in twos and threes, leaving Tom to write so they could go in pursuit of food that was sure to be dyed pink and red and shaped like hearts. Of course, heart-shaped confetti would be falling from the ceiling like pink, red and white raindrops, getting in everyone's food and drinks and then dissolving to spell out some soppy message. Tom had glanced up as everyone left and he found himself wondering where all the allure in this holiday came from. What was the point of celebrating such a fickle emotion as love?

Sighing out of sheer irritation at the thoughts in his mind, Tom Riddle closed the diary and leant back against the wall, closing his eyes as he balanced. He nearly fell off the wall when the diary suddenly glowed red hot in his hand and flew open to the day he had just been writing on where, as usual, the ink had already disappeared. However, instead of a blank page, the book seemed to be glowing and random splats of ink were appearing. Tom groaned softly, realising that the fraction of his soul that he had concealed within the pages was beginning to get restless, especially as it was so close to the rest of his soul – currently still within his body, though broken. He had read that the first Horcrux could be the most unstable, and therefore the most vulnerable to be destroyed, so he kept it very close to him at all times, bound under heavy enchantments.

So when the pages began to glow brighter, and a small glowing black square appeared in the middle of the double pages, Tom was immediately concerned. Well, not so much concerned as livid. Who dared to mess with his personal belongings? Especially those containing a fragment of his soul? He was willing to bet Dumbledore was behind it. Scowling, Tom glanced furtively around to make sure no one was watching, then leaned closer to the book and attempted to peer into the small black square.

* * *

><p>If anyone had asked Ginny, she would have said she was in the kitchen in her Great Aunt Muriel's house, but no one was asking so she wasn't going to say anything. However, unlike the dingy room that was Muriel's kitchen, this room had two large windows and was light and airy. Ginny was currently glued to one of these windows, watching the events happening outside it with an open mouth. It was certainly not the view that could usually be seen out of Muriel's house, it was actually Hogwarts which could be seen through both windows. However, one was the Hogwarts she had just left, and the second Hogwarts was a much older (or so she thought) version of the school she attended and loved so.<p>

It was the window showing the older Hogwarts which she was glued to, watching the activities there with an avid interest. She was particularly curious as to what was going on with a certain individual in the Transfiguration courtyard – though she didn't know why she was so drawn to him. He was extraordinarily handsome with pale skin and very chiselled features, set off by the darkness of his fine hair.

It was odd, though. As she watched him, she began to hear a voice in her head – not her own conscience, but the voice of a male. She couldn't help but wonder, from the nature of some of the thoughts, was this Tom she was watching, and hearing? She watched curiously as he slammed the diary shut, and then nearly fell to his certain death as the diary flew open to the page he'd been writing on. When she saw that the ink had disappeared, she knew it was Tom. The same thing that had happened to her was now happening to him as the little glowing square in the middle of the page grew bigger and bigger. Tom leaned down to inspect it more closely and promptly disappeared into the book.

A moment later, the window she had been watching turned into a glowing square - identical to the ones which had appeared in the diary, only larger – and a tall figure hurtled through it, landing in a pile of tangled limbs and black robes on the floor. He hurriedly stood up and brushed himself down, appearing not to notice Ginny as he examined the place he had been transported to.

"What is this place?" He murmured to himself, disgust evident on his features as he surveyed the hideous wallpaper and matching carpet. His voice was soft and polite, and Ginny had a strange urge to compare it to some music she had once heard being played on a muggle instrument called a piano. An irritable sigh came from his mouth and he absently pulled out his wand, twirled it once, and then settled onto the now green sofa with a slightly happier sigh as he surveyed the room, now detailed with silver and green. Ginny cleared her throat nervously and he looked around imperiously.

"May I help you?" He asked commandingly, raising an elegant eyebrow as he looked Ginny up and down. She blushed slightly and he sighed, quite clearly having to restrain himself from rolling his eyes.

"Are you Tom?" She asked boldly, not sure where her sudden confidence had surged from. He stared at her for a long moment, frowning.

"Yes. Who are you, how did you know my name, and what is this place?" He reeled the questions of quickly, but carelessly. She wondered if he knew that she could tell he was scared. She was too; she was in an unfamiliar place, talking to someone from a time before her parents were even born and she had no idea how she would get back. She took a deep breath.

"I'm Ginny Weasley, I don't know where we are, and we've been talking for months through the same diary you were just writing in." His eyebrows shot up at her confident statement and he scowled at the small girl, wondering how she dared talk to him in such a brash manner. _Then _he realised what she had said.

"I'm sorry, what? _We _have been _talking _for months in _my diary_?" He asked, his face a mixture of shock and anger. Then there was a loud crash from what Ginny had assumed to be the kitchen. She ignored him and jumped up, hurrying out of the room with a single backwards glance over her shoulder. He frowned confusedly and slumped slightly in his seat, rubbing his sore head. Oddly enough, she seemed familiar – though he had never seen her before in his life; that he was absolutely certain of.

Ginny scowled slightly as she sped into the kitchen to see a broken bowl lying on the floor, though there had been no movement which could have possibly caused it to fall off. She picked up the broken pieces carefully, not having yet perfected the repairing spell. Setting them into the large rubbish bin under the window, she leant against the counter for a moment before she went back into the main room where Tom was still sitting.

"So how, may I enquire, have _we _been communicating through _my _diary?" Tom asked with a sneer marring his handsome features, not looking at Ginny as she sat down beside him, though as far away as the couch would allow. He wrinkled his nose slightly as she opened her mouth to speak and gave out a quiet hiccup instead, before trying again.

"I found the diary with the rest of my school books and thought I would just be able to write in it as if it were a normal diary… Until I wrote something and it disappeared, and then you wrote back…" Ginny trailed off awkwardly, not sure what else to say. Though she had heard snippets of Tom's thoughts earlier, she hadn't heard all of them and therefore had no idea that she was sitting talking to the future Lord Voldemort.

"How interesting," Tom scoffed. "What exactly did "I" say?" He clearly did not believe the little redhead's tale, believing she was actually an extremely powerful witch who had somehow brought him here. Maybe she was Dumbledore in disguise.

"You asked me who I was, and if by "Harry" I meant "Harry Potter" and then you just started talking to me and offering me advice. We became friends," Ginny whispered to the carpet and he had to lean closer to her exactly what she said. His response to her words was a rather loud snicker, which quickly became a deeper laugh. Ginny watched him laugh with wide eyes as it seemed that a boy who looked so intense and spoke so seriously was not capable of such an infectious laugh. She smiled softly, even though she had no idea what he was laughing at. Finally he calmed down and looked at her in bemusement.

"That's rich," he declared. "The thought that I gave someone advice, that I befriended someone, is simply, well, laughable." His eyes glittered with a strange mixture of amusement and malice and Ginny stopped smiling, feeling a little bit scared. She attempted to edge away from him but bumped into the arm of the couch instead. Tom did not miss this movement and he leered at her, making her feel even more scared. This was not the Tom she loved so – she rather wished this hadn't happened. The laughter especially had changed him, despite its infectiousness, it was cruel and mocking.

"Do I scare you, little Ginny?" He hissed; leaning closer to her and making her widen her eyes. She tried to remember that she had been Sorted into Gryffindor and that Gryffindors were supposed to be brave, but here before this scary version of Tom she felt simply terrified. She shook her head resolutely anyway and he smirked, an evil smirk, as his eyes glittered maliciously. He leaned closer.

"How about now? Now do I scare you?" His voice was little more than a breath, albeit a rather angry breath. Ginny attempted to shake her head again but nothing happened. Tom was looking at her curiously, only a few inches away from her face now. His eyes had the strangest hint of red in them and Ginny found herself gazing deeply into them, trying to figure him out to no avail. He was unreadable.

"You say that we write to each other?" Tom murmured. He hadn't leaned away and some of the cruelty had disappeared from his eyes, leaving him with an intensely serious expression. "Well, what do we talk about?"

"You give me advice on feelings," Ginny whispered and Tom gave a short laugh of disbelief.

"_I_ give you advice on feelings? How in the name of Merlin could I do so, when I have no feelings of my own?" Ginny frowned at him, confused.

"How can you not have feelings? Everyone has feelings. You give me really good advice about them, especially when it comes to love."

"Love? Don't make me laugh again, that wasn't pleasant." Upon seeing the perplexed expression on Ginny's face, Tom sighed in irritation. "Love is such a fickle emotion; I don't waste my time with it."

"But… but love is so incredible! It makes you feel so warm and happy inside and like everything is right with the world. Have you never been in love with anyone, Tom?" The use of his first name startled him and he stared at her with an equal amount of confusion as she was staring at him with. Though, beneath her confusion, there was fire and passion like he'd never seen in anyone. Or perhaps it wasn't that he'd never seen it in anyone, but rather that he'd never been paying enough attention to notice.

"No, I have not. And I hope I never do – it does not sound like something I want to waste my time on. Why spend time trying to make oneself happy with another person, when it can be done without the help of anyone else?"

There was a long moment of silence as Ginny processed his statement, and he watched her process it. Finally a crease appeared between Ginny's eyebrows and she looked up at him.

"Because, when you fall in love with someone, and they return your love, it's making two people happy instead of just one. And if everyone fell in love, then the entire world would be happy and there would be no need for war or sadness," she said wisely, despite her young age. He considered her for a long moment, and then shook his head.

"No, I'm afraid that simply does not sound appealing at all." He frowned at her, as if he were berating her for wishing to see people happy. "If the love was not returned, then only some people would be happy. And why should some people be happy, whilst others are miserable? Either everyone should be happy, or no-one should be… and the second option is so much easier. I'd rather be sad than happy any day, it's more thought provoking." Tom looked at her, the emotion in his eyes similar to that of someone who was sharing a deep, personal secret.

"But without love; there would be no kissing, and no new children in the world. Have you ever kissed anyone, Tom?" Was he going deaf, or was there a hint of jealousy in her voice? He regarded her darkly, his eyes great puddles of the deepest brown.

"No. I have n-" Tom did not have time to finish the sentence as Ginny simply gave into her instincts, leaned forwards in her seat and placed a chaste kiss upon his pale lips. No sooner had she pulled away, she disappeared.

* * *

><p>If anyone been peering through the leaves of a group of bushes in the corner of the courtyard, they would have seen a small red-headed girl come hurtling out of a book, land on the ground with a surprised 'oomph!' and then sit up and touch her fingers to her lips, a look of wonder on her face.<p> 


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